Page 36 of The Jack*ss in Class

She spun away from her sisters and directly into Brad Mitchell from the rugby team.

“Flynn,” Brad called out. “Your study partner’s been teaching us Espanol.”

Tempest draped herself against Brad’s arm, deliberately not looking at me. “Díle, Brad. ¿Qué significa ‘arrogante’?”

“Arrogante,” Brad repeated proudly, butchering the pronunciation. “It means football player.”

Thank you, four years of high school Spanish, two in college, and the occasional sexy Spanish-speaking babysitter. I bit back a smile as Tempest moved on to her next victim.

"Ricky." She collapsed onto the couch next to the soccer captain. “Enséñales cómo se dice ‘tiene el trasero increíble pero no tiene huevos.’”

Ricky, who definitely spoke Spanish, shot me an apologetic look before turning to the group. “It means... uh... football players are great study partners.”

Liar. She’d just announced to half the party that I had an incredible ass but no... guts.

“No, no, no.” Tempest wagged her finger at Ricky. "En español, por favor repíteme?—”

She proceeded to teach a group of increasingly confused hockey players how to say what I was quite sure translated to “pretty boy who runs away from feelings.” All while shooting me these little glances to make sure I was watching.

That’s when she noticed me staring and her eyes narrowed. With a lot of effort, she pulled herself up off the couch and walked right up to me. “If you’re here to play hero again,” she said, poking my chest, “I don’t need saving. I have sisters for that.”

“What you need is water.”

“What I need,” she announced to the room at large, “isfor certain football players to stop telling me what to do like... like...”

“Like what?”

“Like that.” She gestured at my face, then grabbed my beard and gave it a little shake. “All concerned and focused and... and Flynn-like.”

Several of her sisters laughed. I shot them a look, and Hannah made a “what can you do?” shrug.

“Come here.” I sank into one of the oversized armchairs, hoping to at least get her sitting down before she fell down.

“No.” But she swayed a little. “You’re not the boss of me, Flynn Kingman.”

“Never said I was.”

“Good. Because I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need...” She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the arm of my chair. “Doesn’t need...”

“A hand?”

She glared at me, but there wasn’t much heat in it. More like the way a grumpy kitten might glare at someone who’d interrupted their nap.

But kittens didn’t wear sexy-as-fuck heels, which she turned on and clacked her way into the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle of water. With much aplomb, she twisted the cap off and took several long gulps, just as much spilling down her face, down her throat, disappearing behind her shirt, but no doubt going right into that cleavage.

Fuck, and now I was jealous of a bottle of water.

I spent the next hour sitting in that damn chair,watching her flit around the party from group to group like a little drunk butterfly. At least she’d slowed down on the fruity vodka drinks. But that also meant eventually she’d run out of steam.

I’d be right here, ready to take her home. Hers, not mine. And probably along with her gaggle of sorority sisters. I wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a drunk girl. Guys who did that were gross at best, and fucking criminals as far as I was concerned.

I gripped the armrests when she walked up to Gryff. I was about to tear the arms of this chair right off when she caressed his cheek, wiggling her fingers through his facial hair. But then she gave him a little baby slap and stuck her tongue out at him.

Gryff laughed, took her by the shoulders and spun her until she was facing me. “I think that’s the Kingman you meant that for.”

He gave her a little shove, and she stumbled her way right toward me. I geared up for a brand new confrontation with her, mentally preparing myself for a bigger slap than what Gryff had gotten. Hopefully I’d get the caress first though.

But without warning, she sort of... collapsed. Right into my lap.

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